


The Favourite.

by MonstersMuse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) RPF
Genre: Adorable Connor, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-23 01:43:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17674034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonstersMuse/pseuds/MonstersMuse
Summary: Little Connor x Reader oneshot. The reader attends the DPD annual party and gets drunk, revealing to Connor how she feels about him... Then wants the ground to swallow her.As always: Y/N = reader's name. Y/L/N = reader's last name.Cute/Fluffy/Funny.





	The Favourite.

The work party was in full swing, drinks flowing and music drifting across the open plan office space.

It was the Detroit Police Deparment - fifth floor, where you worked as a mid-level PO. You were only a couple of shots in, but already feeling pretty relaxed and warm. After wandering through a few groups, schmoozing and chatting, you'd found yourself back at your desk - currently draped with party streamers - and looking at your drunken reflection in the black glass of a powered down computer.

_You're already a wreck, woman._

"Officer Y/L/N! ...You're inhebriated".

You look up from the desk seat, raising your glass of whiskey to the stranger before your slow-to-react eyes have even focused on them.

"Enjoying yourself?"

It's Connor _._

_Oh god_.

You were not sober enough for this. Despite him technically being your superior and a long time member of the DPD, it took you by surprise that he would even be at the party.

_Do androids often go to parties?_

Those pretty brown eyes meet yours, and you feel yourself interally melt - just like you have every day for the past twelve months of working here. Desperately you try to push it aside, although the two double bourbons swimming through your system are making any and all reactions sluggish.

"Erm. Yes, thankyou, Connor." You finally manage, hoping you haven't turned any humilating shades of pink, "Yourself?"

He casually half-sits on the edge of your desk, surveying the dozens of police officers and civil servants in their casual attire. You stare absent-mindedly at the blue circle gently illuminating the right side of his face.

_Stopitstopitstopit_.

"I am... Well, thankyou, Officer Y/L/N."

You shake your head, "You know I'm not the formal type Connor, and this is a party - it's Y/N."

He smiles, then nods, "Very well."

You grin at each other for a half a beat before his opening liner finally seems to reach your flushed ears.

"Hey! I'm not inhebriated! I've only had two drinks! I'm _tipsy_ at best."

Connor raises his palms in mock defeat, "If you say so, Officer Y/L/N."

_"Y/N_." You correct immediately, taking a sip of your drink with an air of defiance, "...Although maybe you're not the person to argue with on this. I bet you can read the alcohol levels in my blood just by looking at me, or something equally amazing, right?"

Connor nods, "The receptors in my tongue are able to anaylse over two billion pieces of analogical data per second. If I tasted your sweat, for example - I would beable to count the alcohol content in your blood down to .000 per gram."

You hadn't heard anything past 'taste your sweat', eyes glazed over but hovering somewhere near that damn android's mouth as he continued to talk. You watched them move and form words but barely heard a sound.

"...Officer Y/L/N?" He offers, pulling you from your daydream, tilting his head in that way he was often want to do.

" **Y/N**." You snap back automatically, before shaking your head and holding your almost-empty third glass aloft,

"It's the drink."

It wasn't uncommon for your mind to slip when talking to Connor, but at least when you were sober it was easy to hide. You knew this guy was a master of reading human behaviour and the things he could probably intern from whatever doe-eyed, uncontrolled expression you had just let slip made you go cold.

He sits back on the desk, eyes ever so slightly narrowed in thought. You can't help but drunkenly grin a little under his scrutiny, keeping eye contact as you take another sip of whiskey.

As a pair, you had always been comfortable with each other - you enjoyed watching him just as much as he clearly relished learning from you.

An equally inhebriated colleague suddenly stumbles past the pair of you, knocking her shoulder with Connor's and half tripping. She giggles to herself, holding up her hands and turning to apologise, but on seeing it's the sole android member of staff that she has disturbed, quickly disregards him as if she had walked into a piece of the office furniture instead.

You forcibly meet her gaze, scowling, when she predictably looks to you next - trying to understand whom would be spending time at a party talking to what she considers to be nothing but walking computer equipment. It's only a moment, but you're suddenly stinging with indignation at the expression of contempt so clearly etched on her face. With her party hat sitting at a jaunty angle as he holds aloft a long flute of champange, she sniffs before moving back into the throng.

"Friend of yours?" Connor murmurs, watching the woman's back disappear into the crowd.

You shake your head, gulping your drink.

"Hardly... I don't know how you stand it."

He looks at you quizzically.

"Being treated like _that_ ," You gesture with your glass, ignoring the last of the bourbon sloshing onto your hand as you move, "Like you matter less than everyone else."

Connor says nothing, but you feel he's watching you stare after the woman.

"If I was drunker I would have said something." You confirm, turning to him, "Clearly I haven't had enough to drink."

Connor smirks at that, but regardless he turns in his seat and produces another whiskey on ice, "I came prepared. Was waiting for you to finish."

You beam, quickly draining what little was left in your current glass and take it, tipping one end in his direction as a 'cheers' before taking a sip.

"Why do humans do it?" He asks after a moment.

You swirl the drink in it's jar, "Do what? Drink?"

He nods, "If it makes you less able to function correctly, why do it? It doesn't make sense."

You take another gulp, feeling the alcohol burn on your gums as you consider. When you shrug drunkenly, some of it sloshes onto your fingers.

"Humans... We don't work like you. We don't have control of our thoughts or feelings. Sometimes it's nice to have them slowed down, or to block them out. It's like... a break from them."

Connor nods, listening intently like always, chewing on a corner of his bottom lip. You'd noticed it was a new human-like trait he had started - you couldn't even be sure if it was truely absent minded like it would be in anyone else - but you found yourself staring at his mouth again.

"Plus," You add, a little too loudly, "It's fun."

The smile Connor gives you makes your insides squirm. He raises an eyebrow,

"Fun?"

"Yeah. Fun. Like... alcohol lowers your inhibitions. So you do and say stuff you probably wouldn't when you're sober. It can be fun."

"And dangerous too, I imagine." He offers.

You nod - and a little more bourbon splashes out of the glass, "Yeah. It can get you into trouble."

Connor watches the tiny puddles of wasted drink spread across the desk with a small smile, "So give me an example."

You lean forward, suddenly serious, finger pressed to your lips to suggest quiet. You're still unable to wipe a crooked smile off your face; being around him just made you happy, and it was hard to hide with a swimming head.

Connor leans in too, so that he can hear you.

"If you asked me something now," You say in a ridiculous stage whisper, "I'm drunk enough that I would be totally honest. Stuff I wouldn't tell you normally."

Your tone suggests this is something serious and conspiratorial, so Connor's expression turns grave, although you know him well enough to understand he's just playing along with you. This thought alone makes you warmer than any bourbon could.

"Hmm." He murmurs, clearly enjoying this ridiculous drunken game, "Maybe you can give me honest appraisals of our colleagues."

You nod, still stifling a fit of giggles that has come from nowhere, and both of you scan the room for a target. Your own gaze hovers on him as he looks through the crowded room and briefly you wonder what it's like to look at everyone through the android's eyes - does he see everyone like you do? Or is it data, numbers, statistics? You decide to find someome quickly, before he catches you staring at him again.

"The Commissioner?" You offer, eyes landing on the large man currently stood chatting to a group of officers.

"An excellent choice." Connor agrees with a smile, "Your honest thoughts, then?"

You take another gulp of whiskey, grinning.

"His heart is often in the right place, and I don't doubt he was once a good cop in his day... But he's got no backbone. One ounce of pressure from the boys upstairs and he caves. I think he lacks loyalty, and at this point he's in it for the pension."

Connor seems genuinely a little surprised at how sincere your assessment is, and he visibly juggles your words internally for a moment.

" _PLUS_ ," You add in another overly dramatic whisper, "He's always sweating. Even when it's cold there's big wet patches under his armpits."

It isn't even that funny, but in your inhebriated state those words are hysterical, and you immediately snort into a riot of hushes laughter.

Connor simply smiles at you before selecting the next candidate.

"Lt Hank Anderson?"

You shake off the giggles with a happy sigh, shrugging, "I love Hank," You state simply and honestly,

"He's a great guy, a great cop, and under all that baggage and hard crust, he's got a heart of gold. Could do with more visits to the showers and less trips to the bar... But I'd tell him that sober."

You consider for half a beat, "Infact. I _have_."

You sit back in your chair, grinning and swirling what remains of your drink. The melting ice chips clink at the glass.

_My eyelids are heavy._

"Anyone else?"

Connor bites his lip again, and you find you don't care that you're obviously staring.

_Christ, I'm drunk._

"Finish your drink first," the android directs softly.

You obediently drain the bourbon into your mouth and swallow, feeling the heat slip down your throat. As you place empty glass on the desk, Connor cocks his head.

"Me."

"You?"

He nods, "I would like your appraisal of me, please."

Always so polite; you can't stop the slow, languid smile on your face.

"You." You say again, although in a quiet and contented tone.

_Oh god. Is this a good idea_?

Even though he's now staring at you quite intensely, you are overcome with a strange calmness.

"You're my favourite," You shrug simply.

Connor waits a few moments, but when you don't continue, he speaks. "Your favourite...?"

You nod, and you're sure your eyelids are drooping,

"My favourite. My favourite cop, my favourite person, my favourite friend. You're clever, you're witty, you keep managing to do things that amaze me. You make me happy. You're my favourite."

There seems no clearer way to express yourself than that, so you simply repeat it, "My favourite."

Connor doesn't quite seem to know what to do with this short yet concise report, and you can almost hear the clicks and whirrs of his internal program trying to translate your drunken ramblings.

You allow your head to roll onto one shoulder, now slouching in the chair, and you find yourself suddenly asking a question without even thinking;

"Who designed your face?"

Connor actually blinks a few times as if it takes him a moment to compute your words.

"My face? I imagine it could have been any number of technicians and designers that had input on my aesthetic build. It was, I suppose, a group effort."

You idly tap your nails against the rim of the now empty whiskey glass, "I like it alot... You're kinda hot."

Connor raises an eyebrow, half-smiling, and there's that characteristic tilt of his head again; "Officer Y/L/N... Are you... flirting with me?"

"Y/N." You reply automatically, despite a very sudden and intense heat suddenly spiking across your cheek and neck.

_Ignore it._

"Maybe." You wince, daring to look at him through your eyelashes, inwardly cursing the drink making you far braver than normal, "...That okay?"

Connor says nothing, but looks very obviously confused.

_FUCK. Too far._

"Shit sorry, Connor, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

He shakes his head, eyes scanning the space infront of him as if he's searching his mind for something.

"I'm not. I mean, you haven't. I just..." He meets your awkward expression with a bemused smile,

"I just don't think I've ever been... Flirted with before."

Now it's your turn to bite your lip, "You don't have to flirt back. You know that right? I mean, you can... If you want. But it's not...! I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

_God I wish I had another drink. Or a hole to swallow me._

"I would like to return the gesture," Connor states slowly - almost looking a little embarassed himself, "I just... I don't..."

He inhales deeply, then focuses hard on keeping your eye contact.

"Y/N - I reciprocate the... Erm. Apprecation of your facial construction."

You can't help it; despite the suddenly tense and close atmosphere between the two of you, giggles explode from you again.

"Connor. Without a doubt that is some of the worst flirting I've ever recieved."

He sighs, frustrated, "I don't... Android's don't... You aren't...!"

You try to stop yourself from laughing while he babbles, trying to find the right words. You press a hand to your mouth.

_God he's fucking adorable._

"Androids aren't necessarily attracted like that. Maybe that's a difference between us."

You stop, suddenly serious, and the party around you is forgotten.

"You aren't necessarily attracted...?" You repeat in a murmur.

It wasn't like you'd expected him to reciprocate this ridiculous schoolgirl crush you have on him, but to hear his lack of attraction to you laid so out so coldly made your heart sink.

"I like your face too," He confirms with a soft smile, "I do. But that isn't what I care about, or what I notice."

You must look confused, because Connor braces his hands against the edge of your desk and sighs,

"Whenever there is another android in the building - a courier, a technician, a service model... I've seen you approach them. You make a point of greeting them, conversing with them, thanking them for their work."

You nod, a little confused, "Yes...?"

Connor continues, "If Lt Anderson comes in looking worse for wear - hungover, I suspect - I always notice you get an extra coffee from the machine. Sometimes you even abandon your desk so that you can fetch him breakfast. I've watched you."

_Where is this going?_

"You're kind and you're smart and you keep others at the forefront of your mind," Connor asserts with a smile, his voice low and soft, "I've always admired that about you."

The blossoming pink hue on your cheeks blazes red hot, but you're determined to keep his gaze.

He tilts his head thoughtfully, "I often think you of as an example of how to be. I try to imitate what I think your responses to certain situations would be. I suppose..." He grins then, eyes twinkling,

"You're my favourite too."

You feel your internal organs melt into a puddle and pool at your feet.

"So... as much as I like your face," He concludes, "It's your actions I find most attractive, I suppose."

Now it's your turn to blink, caught off guard by the sheer nochalant tone used with those words. You sit - stunned - for a few moments, not entirely sure how to proceed. But there's no need to dwell for too long, as Connor stands up off the desk and holds out both hands to you.

You eye them suspiciously at first, but he smiles - always looking so damned wide-eyed and earnest - and you take them. He helps heave you from your chair; the room unnervingly tilting on it's side and beginning to swim the moment you find your feet.

Connor steadies you - the whir of the blue loop at his temple ticking over. You focus on it until you can stand unaided, but you can't wipe the dropey, drunken grin off your face.

"Shall we get you another drink?" He offers.

You nod, "We should make a toast."

Connor smiles, "A toast to what?"

You shrug happily, "To being each other's favourite."


End file.
